


Echoes of Angels That Won't Return

by 683N0TiZ_Mii



Series: Guardian Angel [2]
Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/683N0TiZ_Mii/pseuds/683N0TiZ_Mii
Summary: Mephisto uncovers the mystery of Amaimon's disappearance in the wake of his massacre.
Series: Guardian Angel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080764
Kudos: 5





	Echoes of Angels That Won't Return

**Author's Note:**

> Here's part two! Also very sad, but a bit less violent than part one. I hope you like it! Again, I love to hear from you. Let me know what you think!

Mumbled, half-hearted prayers reverberated eerily off the cool stone walls of the Santa María Catholic Parish. Mephisto felt the familiar nausea and unease that came from setting foot on hallowed ground. Despite the sweltering June heat, the demon felt chilled to the bone as he quietly passed the muttering parishioners. Some were dressed in drab, dark, formal clothes, but most wore denim or khaki shorts paired with shirts of varied levels of ostentatiousness. Just off to his right, a woman jerked her head up so quickly that her mousy-brown bun came loose. She stared at him with a mixture of fear, disdain, and hatred, which Mephisto easily shrugged off. He knew he wasn’t welcome there, and would have happily avoided it if not for the business he had. Someone by the name of Father Theodore Romero wished to speak to him about “the incident” at exactly six o’clock pm on Tuesday, the second of June. He’d been very explicit on that matter, though which incident he wished to discuss remained unclear. The demon hoped against hope that it involved the murders that Amaimon had committed the previous year. Thus far, he still hadn’t the slightest inkling as to what the Earth King had done with the girl, Maria, or why he’d killed her parents. At one point, these were questions that Mephisto had desperately wanted answered, but as the months passed with no word, he’d been forced to focus his attention elsewhere.

A particularly loud recitation of “Hail Mary” jolted Mephisto from his musings. He’d reached the altar without realizing it, and a nun was praying on her rosary whilst giving the violet-haired demon an intense look of hatred.  _ Why did all the women in the church have it out for him today? _ Mephisto massaged his temples to curb the oncoming headache that he knew the prayer would give him. He was an  _ exorcist _ for Christ’s sake! It wasn’t as though he was going to massacre everyone on the premises. Mephisto hurried toward the door just past the altar, eager to get away. When he wrenched it open, a young, dark-skinned man emerged, looking quite shocked to see him. Shocked, and not at all pleased. Clearly he did not think very highly of a demon’s presence in a place of worship either. However, to his credit, he greeted the exorcist and asked him politely to wait there while he fetched Father Romero. Mephisto nodded curtly and offered a terse thank you. As the minutes ticked by, the demon again grew curious about the identity of the priest he was to meet. He could not recall ever encountering a “Father Romero,” but the man seemed to know him. Mephisto painted a mental image of an old, shriveled Spaniard with a thick accent, but he couldn’t have been more off the mark. The man he’d dubbed "Sir" the previous year stood before him, wearing his trademark somber expression and running his fingers through his rapidly-greying hair.

“Lord Pheles,” he greeted, offering his hand to shake, “Thank you for coming.”

Mephisto accepted the handshake, “Of course, Father Romero. What is the matter you wish to discuss?”

“Not here,” the father replied, glancing at the partially-filled pews, “Not now.”

Father Romero led the demon to an ancient, rusty, green Oldsmobile in a tucked-away parking lot behind the church. Snarling like a great, angry beast, the engine roared to life, and the car begrudgingly rolled out onto the street. The pair traveled a few blocks with the sounds of New York’s hustle and bustle filling the silence between them. Eventually, they pulled up to a bar called  _ Coraggioso _ . Mephisto perked up and gazed at the building with intense curiosity. This place had a history. It held dark secrets and stories of romance, tragedy, and bloodshed. Oh, how he wished to explore it, but - much to his chagrin - he had things he needed to do first. Suppressing a sigh, Mepshisto followed the brooding priest inside, where they took a small table at the back. The demon’s eyes roamed the rich walnut panels and decadent furniture reminiscent of the Roaring Twenties - one of his favorite periods in American history. The war to end all wars was over and everyone seemed to be celebrating, even those who had nothing. Of course, some of the party ended when the Great Depression hit, but the culture of excess remained and was still highly romanticized in Film Noir and stories of the mafia. Though the stains had been scrubbed away, Mephisto could still smell the rich tobacco smoke and bootlegged whiskey. He wondered what sort of exciting adventures had happened there. Had it been a speako? Or perhaps a hideout for the mafia or camorra? Father Romero sent a questioning look at the demon’s dreamy expression, but said nothing. Eventually, Mephisto snapped back to reality and gave an abashed apology.

“Don’t worry about it,” the priest replied, wearing a hint of a grin, “What’ll you have? My treat.”

Father Romero gave the violet-haired demon a skeptical once-over when he requested something fruity and sickly-sweet, but ordered it for him anyway, though not without shaking his head incredulously. He returned a few minutes later with a glass of hard liquor and some pink monstrosity stuffed with strawberries, the latter of which he shoved toward Mephisto as quickly as possible.

“I admit, I’m quite surprised, Father,” Mephisto purred teasingly, “I never expected that we would be going out.”

The priest flushed with anger and embarrassment and sputtered, “No way in hell!”

Laughing loudly, Mephisto assured him that it was a joke, then went on to ask what they were doing at a bar.

“It’s too early to head into the forest. He’ll still be there now, but I wanted a chance to debrief you before we go up there.”

“Oh? Do tell,” a cheshire grin split the demon’s lips, his curiosity thoroughly piqued.

“I understand that you have some...special abilities, and we need them to answer some pressing questions,” at this, Father Romero trailed off.

“About?” Mephisto prodded, “Don’t keep me in suspense!”

“We found her...or we  _ think _ we did.”

“Her?”

“Maria Greyson.”

Staring at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Mephisto asked, “Are you sure?”

“No, but I can hope. I haven’t been able to get the poor girl off my mind. I see her name every time I set foot in that parish.”

_ Maria Greyson, 16, presumed dead after the gruesome murders of her parents, Jack and Darcy Greyson. The girl has been missing since the incident, and no trace of her has been found. The killer is still at large. _

“I...used to pray that we would find the child alive,” the priest continued, “But now I just pray for forgiveness for wishing her dead. A whole year with that monster...I can’t imagine...”

Mephisto nodded in understanding, though not agreement. Amaimon had been surprisingly manageable in the last few years; he was hardly the monster he once was. “Perhaps your wish came true. Now, you say you think you found her?”

“Yes. Some ecologists or biologists...some scientists...were working in the woods about an hour out from here, and they found a clearing that was in full bloom in the dead of winter.”

“And they found a body there?”

“Not at first. They did some tests, and then the media got wind of it. A lot of people went to see it, and they started getting hurt or scared out of their wits. Apparently tourists weren’t allowed. Of course, the Order got involved after that. A particularly clairvoyant woman sensed something beneath the cherry tree, and using some scientific equipment that I honestly don’t understand, they got an image of what’s under those roots. It looks an awful lot like a corpse to me.”

“I assume you tried to dig it up?”

“It didn’t end well. I swear, every demon in that damned forest rushed out to protect that tree.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Mephisto concluded.

“If you can do what they say you can do, we’ll know for sure what happened there.”

“When can we leave?”

Father Romero smiled grimly, “In an hour or so. Thank you...for agreeing to help.”

“I’ve been very curious as to the events of last year myself. I want to know what Amaimon was up to.”

“Of course.”

Exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes later, the duo left the city and drove out to the hiking trails. No one would be meeting them, as Mephisto was to discover. The less intrusive they were, the better. Father Romero led the way up the twisting gravel path that eventually gave rise to a steep, muddy incline. Neither man spoke during the trek, each consumed with his own troubled thoughts. Glowing orbs of gold, red, and green watched them from the shadows, a mixture of wide and slitted pupils following their every step and slowly pressing in on them. A sharp, hissed curse echoed through the trees as Father Romero slipped and fell back, catching himself on a low branch. Hot, salty blood leaked from the laceration on his palm, dripping enticingly onto cool earth at his feet. Mephisto pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and tied it around the priest’s wound, shooting a menacing glare at the eyes in the darkness that crept ever closer. Amaimon’s kin followed the pair as their journey continued, whispering amongst themselves and cackling quietly. To the untrained ear, it would have sounded like the rustling of leaves and twigs cracking under the foot of an unseen stalker. The exorcists ignored the eerie noises that surrounded them and pressed on, eager to get off the trail and into the clearing. When, at last, they stumbled upon the ethereal cherry tree, the voices of the demons were silenced. A sense of serenity washed over them as they stepped out of the forest. For a moment, Amaimon’s presence was faintly detectable, but it was probably due to the nature of the glade. There wasn’t a demon in sight, Mephisto aside. The men nodded to each other, and Mephisto let out a slow breath. He held out his hand, gloved palm facing the center of the clearing, and boldly stated, _ “Reverse, Time.” _

Father Romero gasped as the events of the previous year rushed before his eyes. Mephisto frowned. Amaimon had yet to appear and two weeks had already passed. Surely, if he’d staked a claim to this place he would defend his territory. Another week flew by before he saw him. Amaimon sat beneath the tree, eyes closed and body relaxed. He might have been sleeping, if Mephisto didn’t know him better. Amaimon was on guard. As the days wound back, the green-haired demon remained. It wasn’t until April 26th that they discovered why. An excavation team had come to the clearing with shovels and wheelbarrows. They’d managed a few scoops of dirt before the two men digging were thrown back so hard by a wave of demons that the trees with which they’d collided - and likely their spines as well - snapped in two. The other members of the team frantically tried to escape. A gargantuan hobgoblin - the latest model of Behemoth - snatched one of them up into its jaws and pinned another to the ground beneath its massive claws. The last remaining member was hunted down by Amaimon himself, who quickly disposed of the interloper. Mephisto glanced at the priest beside him, who frowned at the scene, seeming nonplussed by the nature of the violence. The attack had, in all honesty, been quite tame considering the massacres that had gained the demon his worldwide renown.

As time continued to reverse itself, the duo watched many an errant hiker wander into the clearing, only to be chased out by a variety of earth demons. The only people that ever suffered serious injuries were the ones that dared to damage the area in any way. In February, however, a notable exception appeared. A small party - consisting of two elderly gentlemen, a woman in her forties, and two fresh-faced college students - bearing a multitude of cameras and scientific instruments camped out in the springtime oasis for nearly a month. The tiny forest alcove seemed immune to the blustery, frigid winter surrounding it. The group of biologists, ecologists, and the lone female botanist were intent on determining the meadow’s secret. Amaimon knew they were there. He watched them carefully from the fringes of the trees. Yet, for reasons that utterly escaped Mephisto, he left them alone. Even his kin refrained from any sort of mischief. The months wound back further until finally, they reached the fateful day of June 2nd of the prior year. The Earth King had been visiting the tree for nearly three months straight. Now, they would finally see why. Mephisto and Father Romero crept forward - the latter much more reluctantly than than the former - to get a better view of the events to come. It was a strange, surreal experience to see the burial in reverse. The cherry tree regressed until it was a mere seed, which Amaimon handed to an infant greenman. With a flourish of his hand, the flowers vanished, leaving a bare patch of disturbed soil that he quickly removed. What awaited them beneath that dark earth shocked Mephisto more than he’d ever anticipated. The young, sixteen-year-old girl whose face had been - no,  _ would be _ \- emblazoned on the front page of every newspaper, broadcasted on every television screen, the girl whose story would take the internet by storm, lay - as though asleep - inside a casket of shimmering crystal. It was rough and had little notable detail, but it was a beautiful thing for the intention behind its creation. There was raw pain on Amaimon’s face, something Mephisto had never expected to see. Another wave of the Earth King’s hand removed the glimmering coffin to reveal the girl’s fragile frame, covered in nothing but Amaimon’s tattered coat. Amaimon lifted Maria out of her grave and set her lightly on the ground before packing the dirt back into the hole he’d dug. The two exorcists watched in stunned silence until the Gehennan prince carried the girl back into the darkness of the surrounding trees.

_ “Forward, Time,”  _ Mephisto said quietly and returned himself and Father Romero to the present. He quickly ushered the priest out of the forest and ventured out alone to investigate the apartment previously-owned by the Greyson family. A young couple had moved in, but neither of them noticed the demon creep into their guest bedroom.  _ “Reverse, Time.” _

Watching the cleanup process proceed from end to beginning was a macabre spectacle as well - perhaps coming second only to the burial. Splattered blood was painted over pristine white walls. The soft, tan carpet was torn up and replaced with one encrusted with dark, visceral stains. Police officers and exorcists came and went, but none seemed to know what to make of the events that had transpired in that tiny room. As the hours ticked down toward that sorry night, Mephisto felt the need to excuse himself from the area. He had no desire to see that brutality. The demon passed his blood-drenched brother on his way to the other bedroom. A moment later, he realized that he didn’t particularly want to hear it either. Mephisto tried to ignore the sounds as he went to check on Maria, but found that she was already dead. Her eyes were lightly closed, and a ghost of a smile was frozen on her cooling lips. With his stomach twisting, Mephisto surveyed the bruises and lacerations that littered the girl’s bare, dust-colored skin. Amaimon could be a sadistic bastard at times - that, no one could deny, as the evidence was being created just beyond the paper-thin walls separating the two rooms - but Mephisto had never known his brother to commit this sort of act. It was not as though the Earth King was incapable of it; it was just that he had never shown any interest in such a thing. Besides, he generally left children alone. Though, perhaps he considered her old enough to victimize at sixteen. Mephisto wasn’t sure he would ever understand the workings of his brother’s mind.

Amaimon returned then, his face unmarred by the mask of death that he would be wearing to the forest in under an hour. Unbridled fury bared the green-haired demon’s fangs. He was out for blood. Mephisto watched in wonderment as the murderous look shifted into an anguished one mirroring the pained expression that had twisted his features when he buried the corpse before him. As expected, Amaimon snapped (or rather, unsnapped, from Mephisto’s point of view) Maria’s neck. What Mephisto hadn’t anticipated, however, was how long his brother had stayed before killing her. It became abundantly clear in those moments that Amaimon hadn’t been the one to hurt the girl. In fact, he appeared to be trying to comfort her. They exchanged weak smiles and he allowed her to snuggle up against him as well as her injuries would allow - a gesture surprisingly intimate for the typically-distant demon king. When Amaimon appeared at her windowsill, he looked worried, then after a brief exchange of words, his countenance showed muted despair. Mephisto allowed the time to play forward in its normal progression at that point.

“H-Hey, Angel,” Maria said in a small, halting voice. She coughed badly, her thin form convulsing as her lungs struggled to function properly. Mephisto saw a small amount of blood splatter onto the sheets, but he doubted that his brother had noticed it then. He was more focused on surveying the damage.

“Angel?” Mephisto asked at the same time as his brother, when he’d had a second to register her words.

"I'm n-not s'p-posed t' say your n-name," Maria choked, smiling slightly at the green-haired demon.

Mephisto nodded. Of course not. To speak a demon’s name was to invite it into one’s presence and to present a direct line into the soul. Many demons were so indignant upon their summoning, that they terrorized the poor fool who dared call upon them, and would often kill them when they ceased to amuse. The exorcist watched silently as Maria nestled herself against his brother. His heart ached as he watched the young girl confess her feelings to Amaimon and say her goodbyes. Of all the things Mephisto had thought he might witness on this night, this had never been among the possibilities. The demon looked away from the scene as Amaimon, at Maria’s request, committed his first killing of the night. Mephisto commanded time to return to the present, barely registering the year that passed as a blur of color and dulled sound. He left the way he’d come, not taking as much care to go unnoticed. The girl jumped as she spotted a shadow moving on the wall. Mephisto silently slipped out the door before she was able to catch a real glimpse of him. He heard her say something to man next to her, but Mephisto was already halfway down the hall before the door began to open, and was down the stairs before the man poked his head out to look around. The demon journeyed back to the forest, to the enchanted clearing with the shimmering cherry tree. Amaimon was there this time, staring sullenly at the fluttering pink petals that lazily drifted to the ground. The green-haired demon cocked his head slightly at the sound of his brother approaching, but otherwise didn’t respond. Mephisto stood next to the younger demon and watched the cherry blossoms in silence.

“Why did she call you Angel?” Mephisto asked softly after a while.

“She seemed to be under the impression that I was some sort of guardian angel,” Amaimon murmured, his voice wavering slightly, “Aniue, are you going to send me back to Gehenna?”

Mephisto lips twitched up into a small smile.  _ Was that what he was so worried about?  _ “Why would I do that?” he replied without hesitation.

Amaimon’s head jerked up, and he stared at his older brother with wide eyes, “I killed people.”

“Yes, to protect a child. I can hardly blame you for that,” Mephisto answered, patting his shocked brother on the head.

The Earth King looked at the ground, his mixed emotions preventing him from meeting Mephisto’s gaze. He was grateful to be allowed to stay, but at the same time, the dull ache in his chest had returned in full force. It felt as though he was caught in an iron maiden. His eyes burned, and his cheeks reddened with shame. Amaimon didn’t want his brother to see him in mourning. To his surprise, Mephisto pulled him into a loose hug.

“You’re allowed to miss someone you cared about,” he said quietly.

A few tears spilled over at that point, and Amaimon leaned against his brother for support. It shouldn’t hurt this much. She was just a human. He shouldn’t care this much.  _ It shouldn’t hurt like this. _ But the anniversary of her death caused the pain of loss to rear its monstrous head. A few shaky breaths helped to clear his dark thoughts, and the Earth King pulled away from his brother to sit at the base of the tree. Mephisto silently joined him after a moment, not trusting his words. He was honestly at a loss. How does one comfort his grieving brother who had previously seemed disinterested in allowing anyone or anything into his heart? After a while, Amaimon asked his brother if he thought Maria was happier now. Mephisto assured him that anyone would be delighted to rest eternally in such a beautiful place. This simple statement brought a small smile to Amaimon’s face. With some prodding from Mephisto, the Earth King explained what had happened to Maria the previous year. Most of it, the violet-haired Gehennan Prince had already puzzled out for himself, but he needed to hear it from his brother. However, it seemed that Amaimon’s tendency to talk incessantly had returned to him, and he began to reminisce about a distant memory. Mephisto leaned back into the tree, humoring his little brother, and listened keenly to the story that was about to unfold. It was the story of a little girl who unconsciously tamed a demon and wormed her way into his heart and soul. It was the story of a girl who desperately wanted to live, but who was trapped in hell, not by demons, but by humans. It was the story of a girl named Maria Greyson, whose light was forever extinguished on the second of June, in the year 2025.


End file.
